


Horn Polishing

by chelonianmobile



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Grooming, Horn Stimulation, Kink Meme, Other, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-28 11:52:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chelonianmobile/pseuds/chelonianmobile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt for a human grooming their moirail's horns, and I couldn't resist filling with my latest crack pairing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Horn Polishing

It's such a cliche, waiting alone in a bar when the man who'll change your life walks in and offers to buy you a drink. In your case it was a seven-foot troll with two purple scars across his face, an odd thrum to his voice, and a near palpable aura of seabreeze smell around him.

"I am waiting for my fiance," you had said firmly, calculating if you could smash your martini glass and stab him with the stem before he tore your throat out if things turned ugly. Perhaps it was racist but you had witnessed troll fights before plenty of times and heard from many sources that highblooded trolls often had hair triggers and entitlement complexes, and with those teeth within ten feet you weren't keen to take chances.

He squinted at your fingers, spotted your ring, and you immediately felt bad when he backed off a little, before he saw the battered paperback protruding from your handbag and said "Hey, is that _Spellsinger_? I loved the third book - thought it needed more focus on the pirates, though."

You'd ended up conversing about the book, other books you'd read, and books you planned to write, until your fiance arrived and the troll ("they call me Orphaner Dualscar, or Cap'n if you like") bought drinks for both you and him and arranged a playdate for your respective kids, and things went on from there. He was surprisingly pleasant company, and sometimes you were ashamed of ever having been afraid of the troll - sorry, the _man_ who played violin duels with you and Rose and laughed at Johnny Depp movies with you and your fiance and bought you fancy mochas while he stuck to drinking coffee the colour, consistency, and approximate flavour of tar. You remind him to put his gun away in human neighbourhoods, that blood discrimination is illegal on Earth but you don't hate him for the odd slip-up (he's centuries old and the legislation is new), that human skin is less durable than that of trolls and he should be careful with his claws when he shakes your hand. Then one day he looks at your fingers and says "That finger is for your red ring, not pale, right? Sometimes I can't tell with humans."

Your fiance was remarkably happy about you being in what is, Dualscar insists, a romantic relationship; of course he also insists it's not the same type. It is rather bizarre at first, but you don't care, and they don't care, and your kids don't care, so you see no problem. Dualscar walks you down the aisle and at "speak now or forever hold your peace" he scowls at the entire congregation and paws at his gun; you wait till after the kiss to shoosh him.

Trolls have difficulty sleeping in beds, for both cultural and biological reasons, but a human would drown in a recuperacoon. The first night your husband has to leave on a business trip while John and Rose are away with school, you call up Dualscar - luckily he's in town this week - and he passes a slightly restless night beside you, one icy-blooded arm warming up as it lies across your body, green slime daubed on his pulse points to calm the hivemind nightmares. Twice he wakes you up tossing and turning, and twice you rub his head and shoosh him the way he showed you until he sleeps again. His horns are getting rough, you notice, and you know how to thank him.

You're woken too early for a Saturday by him pacing around the room. His slime wore off, leaving green smears on the pillowcase, and the lack of waves beneath him finally woke him up fully. He groans and sits back down on the bed when he sees he woke you, and you tell him it's not a problem. He put whiskey and glasses in the bedside cupboard, and pours you each a shot; he drinks terrible coffee but wonderful liquor, and neither of you have qualms about drinking this early.

"So, I noticed..." you say, running a finger over the crook of his horn and listening to his purr, "that these need doing again." You nod when he looks at you and his eyes light up.

He sits on the floor between your knees as you sit on the bed, facing away from you. The kit's in your bedside drawer; you select the file, and get down to work.

"You can press a little harder," he murmurs, relaxing against the bed.

"Are you sure?" you ask, rounding the bend in his horn. "I know they're sensitive..."

"Don't let trollsploitation movies fool you, it's not like you're filing my reproductive organs here. There's only a problem if you hit them or squeeze them hard enough to break them, this is fine. I don't think you can file down to the quick with that little thing." You use one hand to hold the base of his horn and scritch his scalp with your fingernails as you file with the other, and he purrs. "The ones you have to watch out for are... mmm... psychic trolls. They use the horns as a... oh yeah... conduit for their powers. My kismesis' matesprit - fellow named Nitram, you may have heard of him, he's the winged one. Well, his wings are just for steering, the real power's in his head; he cracked a horn one time and was flying in circles for a month." You snicker together until the gentle sound and motion of the file lulls him again, and his purring drowns it out.

When you start on the other horn, he raises a hand, requests a pause, and sits breathing deeply for a moment. "Wow, you're good," he whispers. You aren't quite sure how this works, you're a physicist and not a troll biologist, but pale behaviour apparently releases hormones comparable to those released by sex, and the ideal pale encounter will somehow peak in a similar manner to an orgasm. Premature catharsis? You try not to giggle, and when he nods you start again.

Coarse file, fine file, buffer, and a soft polishing cloth; by this time his horns are gleaming and his muscles are as limp as the rag in your hand. The bed props him up, you place your foot on his lap, and he gently massages your ankle in rhythm with your hands' movements. The burrs on his horns are gone, the ridges filed away, and the keratin gleams gently in the dawn light. You dip your fingers in a little jar of mineral oil.

"Ah!" A sudden shudder runs through him as your wet fingers brush the skin at the point where his skin joins his horns. His hand grips your ankle, the other claws at the carpet.

"Need a break?"

"Shit, no! Ah, so good... finish it..." He's tensed up a little now; you know from experience it's a prelude to deeper relaxation, and you're privately rather smug at reducing the fearsome privateer to putty in your hands so easily. Gently, ever so gently, you stroke upwards, rubbing in the oil with your left hand and polishing with the cloth in the right. You soon reach the tips, freshly sharpened, drop the cloth and slide your fingers back down and swirl them around the bends, and as he's still shivering from that you move down to his scalp and rub harder and he almost collapses onto the floor. You recognise the reaction as a sign he's done, and move your hands to rub his neck. His purring is louder than ever.

"Feeling better?" you ask. "I noticed you didn't sleep well."

"Yeah, but it's no problem." He yawns widely, exposing rows of ivory needles. "Actually I think I could sleep now. Damn, woman, you're better than sopor." You laugh, and help him haul his limp body back onto the bed.

He must have slept deeply, as he swaggers downstairs at noon, pristine and smirking, and chuckles when you tell him not to swig from the milk carton. It's rather a pity he can't return the favour exactly in kind, human anatomy being somewhat lacking, but seeing him happy and calm is reward enough.


End file.
